The Principal's speech

Many thanks to Solveig Slettahjell for the song Alt jeg vet (All I Know)!

After all this wonderful and varied music and the kind words from the Minister of Research and Higher Education, Oddmund Hoel, we have come to the traditional segment, the Principal's Speech at the opening of a new academic year.

This will be my fourth opening speech. This means that when I was preparing for this, I was more concerned than ever before that I might start repeating myself—or even the previous speaker today.

There are quite a few speeches and greetings to give in this role, and I actually enjoy it very much. Especially those from the past week. I have had the pleasure of greeting those of you who are new bachelor students, those who are new to our continuing education programmes, new master students, exchange students, and, not least, this weekend: the young people who were attending their first gathering as part of our talent development programme.

In all of these settings, I encountered a sense of eager anticipation, and, I believe, also a certain amount of awe. Being new and becoming a student at various levels is exciting—it should be. And perhaps there is a unique kind of excitement in the air at an institution like this—The Norwegian Academy of Music

We are regarded as the top institution and the largest hub for higher music education in Norway, and we are highly ranked internationally. It is difficult to gain admission here—we have many applicants per place—and it is also challenging to get a job here, especially in artistically attractive positions. Additionally, we are the coordinating institution in a European university alliance in music and arts, along with similar institutions in Helsinki, Vienna, Paris, Belgrade, and Barcelona.

We are—whether we like the word or not—an elite institution.

And today, with the minister's visit and everything, it might be tempting to spend the time boasting about just that—how good we are here at the Norwegian Academy of Music.

I could list artistic achievements and research projects of high international prestige, showcase the media coverage and awards received by those who teach and study—or have studied—here, both domestically and abroad. And believe me, I am incredibly proud of, and still humbled by, the fact that I get to lead an institution with such a wealth of expertise at every level.

But over the past few years, I have also noticed that there is so much more that makes me proud of and fond of the Norwegian Academy of Music:

The students, who are incredibly talented, but perhaps most of all, courageous. You who take a leap and pursue an education in something so personal to you, where you are exposed and challenged, and where—hopefully!—you challenge us. Because you are so diverse and have so much to contribute, here and elsewhere.

And this might be what I am most proud of about the Academy as a whole: that those who come from here contribute so widely and broadly to the vast ecosystem that we might call the music world—or perhaps we should say, to music in everyone's lives.

And I deliberately say "widely and broadly" and not "high and low." Because quality can be measured in so many other ways than those we often think of when we use words like "top" or "elite."

As many of you know, especially the colleagues who attended the staff assembly where we discussed our new strategy, I like to talk about quality as something that emerges in a relationship. In this context, the quality in a music lesson at a middle school—where a teacher and students truly share a special moment in time and in the classroom—can be just as high or important as the quality that arises when Lise Davidsen, Edward Gardner, and the opera orchestra perform Wagner's The Flying Dutchman to a full and reverent audience in Bjørvika.

In this sense, what a music therapist contributes through singing with a choir for people with dementia holds as much value as what happens when a music school teacher finds a way to connect with a student facing special challenges—or one with exceptional talents—and they make progress together. This progress might lead to a better life because music aids in overcoming dyslexia, or it might pave the way for a career that could lead here and into an exciting freelance market as a musician.

There are parallels in quality between the creative process of producing groundbreaking works for the history books and that of someone composing their first song—something personal and significant. Or for someone who discovers a key—both technically and intellectually—to interpreting an old piece or a jazz standard.

I could go on, but I think my point is clear. What truly makes me proud of the Norwegian Academy of Music is that we educate, research, and create artistic expressions that matter in so many different relationships, everywhere and all the time.

Our students come from and return to small and large places across the country and abroad. Some go on to have so-called "big careers," while many find stable jobs. But just as often, they find work within a fragile infrastructure that, unfortunately, I don't think will become any less fragile in the future: In a small town with a tiny band and barely any music school, in a city where the music programme is regularly threatened with closure and where church music is on a shoestring budget, in a vulnerable freelance market in a big city.

We sometimes say that it's not just difficult to get into the Norwegian Academy of Music—it's also difficult to get out. Although studies show—and this is important—that the vast majority of our graduates do find relevant jobs.

Recently, even someone with a master's degree in folk music from the Academy became an adviser to our Minister of Agriculture, Geir Pollestad. That's certainly an unconventional career path. But I'm confident that a music education will have a meaningful impact on how Henrik Nordtun Gjertsen will approach that role as well.

All in all, I believe most people in this room agree that music makes a difference in life; for some, it feels like it means almost everything. That's wonderful! But I also believe that going forward, we must equip ourselves with an even stronger and more articulate awareness of why music is important—for people in all societies.

This way, our graduates can also remind our politicians that the music and the knowledge we cultivate here grow and thrive in an ecosystem that must be vibrant everywhere. Not primarily for the sake of NMH or the music community, but for everyone's lives—in cities and rural areas, and for that matter, around the world.

This summer, I had the pleasure of visiting institutions similar to this one—and at the same time very different—in Bangkok and Singapore. It was fascinating to see how they resemble the Norwegian Academy of Music while also being distinct. It makes a difference whether the neighbouring building is a Buddhist temple and the surrounding area is somewhat impoverished, whether the campus is situated in a tropical swamp just outside the city or in a hyper-modern, efficient metropolis. But the living music and the dedication to and for the students are strikingly similar between our institutions.

At the Norwegian Academy of Music, we aim to make a difference in the context we are part of—locally, nationally, and internationally. And we believe that our students will take what they learn here into a future that is uncertain in many ways and shape it, with music that is yet unheard, with the power to help create and change the world.

With that—no less—I will hand over the floor to the leader of our student council, Lucie Lou Camps.